


It's Just Me, Myself and I

by Space_Cadet_Blues



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Double Penetration, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 15:12:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18153503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_Cadet_Blues/pseuds/Space_Cadet_Blues
Summary: The Gears are through to the finals.Connor, 900 and 60 will just have to entertain themselves.





	1. Chapter 1

Connor watches from his spot on the sofa as Hank, without looking, grabs a tortilla chip from the half empty bag on the coffee table, loads it with salsa and shoves it into his mouth with a wet crunch.

There’s salsa in his beard, crumbs on his ratty old Detroit Gears t-shirt. Connor wants to brush them off but Hank has been less touchy feely recently with the Gears now competing in the finals.

Every time the game is on Connor grows irritated. He knows he should let Hank enjoy it but he can’t help feeling somewhat… jealous? That a game on TV is what gets Hank’s blood pumping on their planned social night.

Connor can’t even snuggle up to him as Hank tends to yell useless sports advice at the screen and flail his arms about. Connor tried to join in once by yelling perfectly strategic advice, but received a pat on the knee and an “it’s just a game honey, no need to get technical.”

Fine. This is Hank’s special time. There’s no need for Connor to cancel his evening then. If Hank won’t participate he’ll carry on without him.

A couple of months ago they’d come to a particular arrangement with 900 and 60. Occasionally they would set aside a Saturday and get together for some adult themed fun time. Hank has clearly forgotten what day it is today. Even though Connor underlined it in red on the calendar.

There’s a knock at the door and Hank doesn’t even glance up, too busy scrubbing his mouth clean with the back of his hand and yelling about abysmal team effort.

Connor gets up and goes to the door, he glances at Hank and wonders… how much would it take to pull Hank away from the game. With this in mind he opens the door to their guests.

900 and 60 stand on the stoop dressed in warm casual clothes. Boots and jeans, sweaters and coats. 60 straightens the lapels of his expensive maroon pea coat looking at Connor expectantly.

900 just smiles faintly in greeting, the navy scarf Connor knitted for him last winter flapping gently over his shoulder in the chilly wind. None of them actually have a need to wrap up too warm but it makes them more comfortable to do so.

Connor finds it cute when Hank tugs his hat down firmly over his ears as though they’ll get cold.

“Con. Shut the door I’m freezing my balls off. Sumo’s gonna end up a dogcicle.” Hank chuckles at his own joke and shovels more snacks into his mouth, still unwilling to tear his gaze from the TV.

Connor frowns in his direction and complies, letting the other two in and closing the door behind them.

Sumo heaves himself up and over to the door snuffling at hands to get their scent and maybe a pet or two. Connor lets them fuss over him for a moment before gently leading him off to the bedroom, closing him in there with a couple of treats before returning to the others.

He’s had too many instances where he and Hank have attempted to have sex on the couch and Sumo has put a halt to it all, thinking they are playing or that Hank is hurting Connor. He doesn’t want to stress the poor creature out.

“We’ll be conducting things in here today. Hank won’t be joining us.” Connor says the last part loudly but Hank doesn’t appear to hear him.

60 frowns as he carefully hangs up his coat on the rack. 900 cocks his head to the side ever so slightly, LED spinning yellow. They enjoy Hank’s company and often compete for his attention. Convincing them to go along with what he has in mind will be easy.

Connor reaches out to 60, his skin peeling back to reveal the bone white of his chassis, 60 does the same, taking his hand. Connor relays his plan to entice Hank.

“We’re starting immediately?” 60 asks.

“Yes.”

60 nods in understanding, a small grin on his face as he starts to remove his clothes. Connor interfaces with 900 to make everything clear. 900 raises an eyebrow at him as he removes his jacket and scarf. Connor hangs them up for him.

900 possibly thinks it’s in poor taste but Connor is too curious. He wants to know if Hank will be able to resist and he believes he already knows the answer.

Connor helps 900 undress. It’s one of his favourite parts, seeing something warm and wanting settle in 900s eyes as he carefully peels back the layers.

60 keeps his distance despite his feelings (or perhaps in spite of them) whether they’re in the bedroom or at work. But 900 has always been overly fond of Connor.

As soon as 900 is naked, clothes stacked on Hank’s computer chair, Connor takes 900s hand and leads him over to the end of the couch opposite Hank where 60 has dumped his own clothes.

Connor is still dressed in one of Hank's old band tees and some rather tight underwear. 60 pulls Connor to face him, kissing him without hesitation. He's always greedy. Looking to take as much as he can get.

Connor has endless patience for him. Their relationship has not always been this good but they're there for each other. Growing closer every day, when 60 lets his guard down.

60 places a hand in the centre of Connor's chest and pushes him against 900's broad form. 900's hands come up to stroke and then hold Connor’s arms, his grip is gentle but firm, thumbs brushing over his skin.

Connor lets out a noise that he knows is desperate but he’s gone without this kind of touch for a week. Hank having been preoccupied with work and sports. He’s starved for it wants it so bad he can hardly process it.

900 pulls his arms behind his back enough to push his chest out, 60 puts a hand on Connor's hip, the other coming up to push a thumb against one of his nipples which are peaked and hard, obvious through the soft worn material of the shirt.

Connor turns the sensitivity up a notch and groans, his knees feel weak and 900 does a good job of keeping Connor held upright as he squirms. The material drags across his sensitive synth flesh and when 60 pinches and then rubs Connor thinks he might lose his mind.

60 observes him under identical lashes through identical eyes. He’s more bull headed than Connor. Less soft than either Connor or 900. Learning to trust was hard for him but he has bonded with them over time.

He does delight in acts of mild annoyance and teasing emotional torture which Connor would be concerned about but it usually leads to moments like this.

“Always have to be the center of attention. Don’t you?" 60 asks, his voice soft.

900's grip on Connor's arms shifts and Connor thinks he might be giving 60 a warning look. 60 hasn't crossed the line since they grew close. Connor has faith that will continue.

Connor sees Hank glance over, chip half way to his mouth.

“Please.” Connor whimpers as 60's deft fingers work their magic. “Please.”

60 pushes up his shirt and for a moment it appears Hank is captivated. That is until his team score and his attention snaps back to the TV.

60 regains Connor's attention by continuing to play with him, gentle and teasing, thumbs circling and rubbing. Connor is rock hard, his cock tenting his underwear and leaking steadily.

60 is still as cool as a cucumber leaning into his space and watching him as though he were some sort of interesting specimen under a microscope.

“Does that feel good 51?”

“Ngh-yeah, fuck.”

900 is getting restless, he requests permission to interface and Connor opens up to him. 900 gasps and nuzzles behind Connors left ear. He can feel the slow burn of pleasure throbbing low in Connor's biocomponents. The flare of heat between his legs.

60 kisses his way down the pale expanse of Connor’s body, hands falling from his chest to grip the waistband of his underwear. Connor gasps as the material is pulled down his legs.

He ups the sensitivity around his lower half and when 60 works him with his mouth and his hands Connor comes with a cry, straight down 60's throat. 900 folds forward, trembling and groaning into Connor's shoulder.

There’s a clatter and Connor knows Hank has knocked the peanut bowl over.  
  
Never mind. If he wants to give up watching the game and join in there’s nothing stopping him.

60 gives him a lick and wrings the last few drops from him with a few more strokes before he’s up and dragging Connor away from 900 and around the front of the couch. 900 follows fairly desperate to play with Connor himself, Connor can feel it when they touch.

60 drops down onto the sofa and gives a cheery “Hello Hank,” As he drags Connor to sit in his lap facing outwards so 900 can get between his legs.

Hank rolls his eyes. He obviously knows what they’re trying to accomplish but he’s holding steady, even if his beer can creaks in his grip.

60 grinds his hard cock between Connor's cheeks and Connor almost sobs. He wants one of them inside him. Before he can vocalise this 900 is crouched between his legs with his soft lips dragging against the base of Connor’s sticky cock and then upwards.

60 roughly removes Connor's tee, flinging it somewhere behind them before feeling up Connor's chest.

Connor grabs one of 60's roaming hands and they connect.

“Shit,” 60 curses into Connor's shoulder pressing a kiss there and peering over to watch 900 work.

900 captures Connor's gaze with his steel blue eyes as he works his cock with his mouth. Connor can do nothing but whimper and nod enthusiastically.

900 works his shaft with one large hand rasping his tongue across the tip, his other hand holds onto Connor's thigh keeping him from closing his legs.

It’s difficult not to curl in on the pleasure but Connor tries his best, helped by the grip 60 has on him.

60's free hand hooks under his other thigh and together the two androids tilt Connors hips.

“Yes,” Connor whimpers in excitement.

Two of 900’s fingers work their way into him, he’s so wet there’s almost no friction. 900 sinks lower between his legs, nosing the base of his shaft and dragging his tongue over his balls.

The hand on his thigh squeezes and the rasp of fingernails on sensitive synth flesh makes him jolt. It’s too much. He bucks, writhes, coming undone loudly, his sharp cry cutting through the noise of another successful point score by the Gears.

60 shushes him, nipping his ear and giving him a squeeze. Flattening him further against his chest. “Hank’s trying to watch the game.”

The grin on 60’s face is part way to feral, Connor can feel it through where they connect, bleeding information into each other.

Connor peers at Hank through pinpricks of tears to see Hank keeping his very fiery gaze on the screen. His fingers no longer inch outwards for snacks, instead his hands are clamped over his knees. Knuckles white.

900 crooks his fingers deep and then spreads them and Connor loses focus and maybe actually loses his mind, temporarily. 60 has a tight hold on him. One hand still holding Connor’s against his chest, the other now stroking firmly over his abdomen through the mess he has made.

60 brings his wet fingers to Connor’s mouth and through their connection he knows 60 is looking at Hank. Smug and satisfied.

Connor feels Hank’s eyes on him as he sucks on the digits greedily, holding 60’s wrist tightly and moaning whorishly around the fingers in his mouth, as 900 finds his sweet spot and stimulates it mercilessly.

Connor writhes and 60 holds him tight.

900 is watching Connor with burning intensity from where he crouches and Connor has no want to tease him. He meets his eyes and reaches for him.

900 carefully removes his fingers and stands, Connor takes 900’s poor neglected cock in hand tugs him gently, lining him up once he is close enough.

60's fingers slip from Connor's panting mouth and he holds Connor's hips tightly.

Connor swipes some of the slick from between his cheeks and rubs his sticky fingers over 900’s waiting cock, pressing greedy fingertips to where he knows the most dense of sensors are. 900 is shaking, pawing at Connors thighs.

“Yes,” Connor moans as the head of 900’s cock pushes against his wet hole.

“See how needy he gets when you neglect him Hank. Guess we’re just going to have to take care of him ourselves,” 60 sing-songs.

Connor all but sobs as 900 eases into him, the slick sound of it loud even over the cheering and squeak of sports shoes on the TV.

Connor grabs his biceps in a death grip and 900 presses his forehead to Connor’s, huffing stuttery breaths as he fights to keep his systems cool. The steady push-pull of his hips and the feel of him sliding impossibly deep makes Connor's legs tremble and his head spin.

900 gives two hard, neat thrusts that force harsh gasps from both of them before Connor realises he’s as deep as he can go now. Filling him up nicely. Connor’s fingers brush through the short hair at his nape and 900 kisses him sweetly.

Connor thinks he can hear Hank’s short angry breathing over it all but he’s not sure. His eyes flutter shut as 900’s fingers touch his jaw, and 60’s hands travel up over the plane of his quivering belly. It all feels so good. His whole body feels like a live wire.

“Think you can handle me too?” 60 whispers into his ear and Connor nods.

He’ll be able to handle the stretch with no damage he’s sure. Even if it’s not guaranteed he doesn’t care, he’ll do anything to keep feeling like this.

Connor loops his shaky arms around 900's neck as 900 holds him steady. 60 shifts into position and 900 eases out enough to make room. There’s pressure. Intense pressure, he’s sobbing but the two androids holding him know that it’s not because he doesn’t want this.

“H-hey. Are you hurting him!?”

That’s Hank’s voice.  
  
“No.” 900 says sternly, frowning. Annoyed that Hank would think that to begin with. “I’d show you what he's feeling but you can’t interface.”

Connor looks at Hank who has at this point completely forgotten about the game. He looks hurt and Connor realises it's because he feels left out.

Not because of what they’re doing but the fact that they can connect and communicate seamlessly.

900 wasn't being spiteful. He was being factual but even so, Hank is a sensitive soul. He'll have to teach 900 this.

Connor reaches out and takes Hank’s hand squeezing it reassuringly. None of that matters. Connor loves him. He could be human or android or a head in a jar and Connor would adore him.

Hank smiles. Small and soft, squeezing Connor's hand back.

60 thinks this is a good time to press insistently upwards and Connors vision whites out. He can still feel hanks warm hand holding his own.

“ _Hank_.”

900 and 60 synch up perfectly and the feeling of them moving inside him, filling him up is overwhelmingly intense. Their hands roam over his body and though he clings to 900 with one hand he keeps ahold of Hank’s like a lifeline.

He feels Hank pressing wiskery kisses to his knuckles and he feels alive with sensation.

900's voice crackles over their connection, [Connor I’m going to-]

[It’s okay]

Connor touches 900's face gently and the android closes his eyes, letting out a soft groan. His hips stutter and Connor feels him pulse his release inside him.

60 follows shortly after and the two of them stop moving giving their systems a moment to cool. 900 kisses Connor, soft and sweet.

60 tuts “So soft.”

900 ignores him as he is prone to do nowadays.

They disengage carefully and Connor is distantly aware of the upcoming dry cleaning bill.

It takes Connor a moment to realise that the TV is off and the room is fairly dark the only light being from a couple of lamps and the moon filtering in through the curtains.

“Well. Now that you’ve got my attention and made a huge fucking mess of my couch are you happy now?”

Connor goes to speak but is abruptly cut off.

“I’m sufficiently satisfied,” 60 says, grabbing a handful of the napkins on the coffee table and cleaning himself up crudely.

"Same time next week?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank's a little insecure in the aftermath but Connor knows just how to reassure him.

60 departs not long after, sure to enquire about the wellbeing of Connor's ass before he does so. Blunt as he is, Connor appreciates the concern.

900 lingers for longer, kissing a now only half naked Connor, sliding his hand up under Connor's tee between his legs. Also apparently concerned about the resilience of his downstairs.

Connor assures him it's just fine and eventually shoes him out the door.

When he turns back to the living room Hank is already summoning the autonomous vacuum to clean up the peanuts.

He won't look at Connor.

Connor stands awkwardly by the end of the couch, watching Hank tidy.

"Hank."

Hank doesn't answer. He's wearing the expression he has when he doesn't want to be mad at Connor but is anyway.

Connor frowns there's nothing to be mad about other than a spoiled sofa cushion. Hank's just being a grumpy guts because he chose the game over Connor.

Or maybe this disrupted some sort of pecking order. Hank usually fucks Connor to completion first before anyone else has a turn.

Hank looks up at him worrying some (thankfully unused) napkins between his fingers. He takes a while before finally forcing himself to say what he wants to say.

"Do you, like it better. When you're with them?"

"... What?"

60 must have knocked his audio processor loose because he did not just hear that.

"Let's face it. Those guys are probably more your speed. I just... I don't know-"

"You do know," Connor interrupts, suddenly furious. Mostly at himself for not realising how this all could affect Hank.

"You know perfectly well why I'm with you Hank. Ask me to call this all off and I will. Ask me to promise myself to just you and I will. No questions asked."

Connor approaches him carefully and pries the napkins out of his grip.

"I love you." Connor says. No hesitation. No uncertainty.

Gently he touches Hank's face and Hank leans into it, breathing out a sigh before relaxing.

The vacuum bumps into their feet and there's a beat of silence before they both laugh. Connor has been meaning to fix the sensor on it for a while.

The tense bubble has burst but Hank clearly has some insecurities. Connor doesn't mind putting a stop to things until he can convince Hank that he is undoubtedly stuck with Connor for the foreseeable future.

He has a few ideas on how he can put Hank's mind at ease for now.

"So, I'm yours. What do you want to do about it?"

Hank's hands go to his side's and bunch into the material there, lifting the t-shirt.

Connor is sticky from his thighs to his chest, he can still feel pseudo-cum leak out of him whenever he moves.

The sight of it makes Hank's eyes darken. Connor won't have to do a lot to make him snap.

" _Hank_ ," Connor moans, rubbing a hand through the mess on his stomach.

"Filthy," Hank says. He sounds more than a little interested.

Good. Connor wants his attention always. The whole reason he didn't cancel the evening was to get Hank to want him.

He decides to play it to his advantage.

"You haven't touched me in days. I just wanted you to look at me."

"Con."

"Are you looking at me now Hank. Now that you have me all to yourself. What are you gonna do with me?"

Hank holds the shirt up with one hand, trailing the other over his sticky belly.

Connor bites his lip, looking at Hank invitingly.

That's all it takes.

Hank pulls the shirt up and off and turns him around. Connor braces his hands on the arm of the couch and peers over his shoulder at Hank.

Hank palms his cheeks, forcing more cum out of him and making him moan, he's sensitive and raring to go again.

"Fuck, they really made a mess of you huh?"

Hank rubs the pad of his thumb over Connor's soaking wet hole and it slips inside him with ease.

Connor jolts as his pleasure sensors fire up at the sensation.

Connor tries to rock back but Hank stops him.

"So fucking needy, wanting so badly to be filled in you gotta take two dicks at once."

Hank's free hand lands a slap on Connor's cheek and his sensors sing.

"Ah! N-nothing compared to you," Connor whimpers.

"Lets put that to the test shall we?" Hank's voice is low and teasing and Connor almost falls apart right there.

"Yes!" Connor nods, practically drooling into the arm of the sofa as he bends, presenting himself more.

Hank removes his thumb and wastes no time in lining himself up.

He slips inside of Connor with ease and once he is buried to the hilt Connor sobs as his climax hits him out of nowhere. He trembles, crying into his forearm. His body squeezing tight around Hank's cock.

"Already?" Hank asks, steadying himself and hauling Connor up against his chest.

Connor cries out, loud and sharp, grabbing Hank's arms where they wrap around his chest, holding him.

Connor's legs are shaking but he trusts Hank to hold him up. He's strong, even stronger than he looks.

Hank rocks his hips forward and up, chasing the aftershocks of Connor's potentially endless pleasure.

Connor can feel every thick inch of him stretching him open, and with Hank's arms holding him he has nowhere to go.

He can't think of a better way to spend an evening.

Hank fucks up into him in long deep thrusts. Connor can do nothing but shake and shiver, writhing against him as heat builds in his belly once more. His synthetic nerves singing with intense feedback.

He comes again and Hank slowly fucks him through it, shushing him and kissing his cheek and neck. He's pretty sure Hank's forearms are scratched to hell but the man doesn't seem to care.

Connor is producing so much lubricant it drips between them onto the carpet, running in sticky rivulets down their thighs.

Connor turns his head and they kiss as best they can. Connor murmurs encouragement against his lips and Hank moves faster and harder inside him as a result.

Connor can feel every thundering heartbeat, every twitch in Hank's body. He's close. Unbearably close.

"Ah, come inside me. Right where they did, I'm yours, only yours, please, please Hank."

Hank growls against his lips giving a few more disjointed thrusts before he's finally done. Holding Connor tight as he grinds his release into him.

Connor's head tips back against his shoulder, body heaving as he sucks in air to cool his biocomponents. He's burning up and it's so so good.

"Oh man," Hank moans, pressing his forehead to Connor's temple. "I'm scared to move."

Connor laughs. "It's alright. I already have to steam the couch. Why not the carpet."

Hank chuckles almost deliriously.

"Okay, I'm gonna pull out."

"Good luck."

"Shit don't say that," Hank laughs.

"Being stuck like this wouldn't be so bad."

Hank kisses his shoulder. "You say that now. Okay..."

Carefully Hank extracts himself and gives a low whistle at the mess.

"You really need a shower baby."

"Mmph, carry me there."

"Brat."

Hank waits for Connor to recover which doesn't take very long and they both climb into the shower together, taking turns soaping each other up and standing under the spray.

Connor shoes him out of the bathroom to give himself a more thorough clean and eventually joins him in the bedroom where Sumo practically pounces on him.

Once Sumo gives up trying to get more pets they snuggle down under the comforter together smelling of soap and the laundry detergent emanating from their clean pyjamas.

Connor rests his head on Hank's chest and raises his hand. Hank's rises to meet it, palm pressing to palm and fingers to fingers. Hank's hand is larger, Connor loves the difference.

"Are you ever bothered that we can't, y'know. Interface?" Hank asks. Not sounding upset. Just curious.

"No," Connor says. "There are things that I like about interfacing. But there's more I like about the way we connect. It's not easy for us. But it works."

Hank smiles and kisses him. "I love you."

"I love you more."

Hank sighs but the smile is still there.

"Little shit."


End file.
